To Burn a Saint
by Daughter Of The Revolution
Summary: Puritan Alfred was very concerned for his dear woodsman friend Mr. Arthur Kirkland, so he offed to tell him of witches in their midst, but when Alfred understands that there had really been a witch, the demons summoned by such black magic are instantly attracted to him. And this Puritan was thriving with a very pure heart. What are demons to do but taint the light? Happy Halloween!


**DOTR** **: Happy Halloween, everyone! I'm surprised I managed to finish this in time, haha. This was actually supposed to be last year's Halloween fic, but I got lazy and never finished it. But, I did now, so enjoy! (As always, this is rated M and so many things possibly entail in concordance with the rating). You'll know this one, Ahro. ;)**

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Salem, Massachusetts. February of 1692

Alfred didn't care if the snow wet his stockings. Yes, he should have worn better footwear, higher boots, when venturing out into the woods beyond the town, but he was just so frightened, so concerned. A dear friend lived out in the woods, the dark woods where things were said to have been seen.

He had to find his friend, Arthur Kirkland. Alfred wasn't certain if the older man knew what was taking place. No one oft saw the Brit in the winter months. Mr. Kirkland lived just outside of town and opted to remain isolated for the winter season, well, except when Alfred would pay him visits. The American hadn't seen him in a month and now was the most opportune moment for a visit because he had dire news that everyone living in the Colonies needed to hear.

Witches, actual WITCHES were being sought out and taken. Alfred had never thought that he'd ever see the likes of those evil things. Were those people really witches? Why, the people accused of being such, Alfred had always thought they were nice common folk. But his mother told him that devils can deceive anyone, and witches were devils.

So Alfred was afraid. He heard they did things, evil things. He hoped that those outside of town were safe from their black magic. So he ran to make sure Arthur was well and that he knew of what was taking place.

Finally, Alfred could see that little cabin of his. The stone chimney was puffing out smoke which meant Arthur was present in the home. Alfred smiled wide and raced up to the front door.

It would be polite to knock and let the owner of the house greet him, but Alfred knew Mr. Kirkland well enough to just waltz in. He opened the door and shut it politely before bounding off to see the man. To his confusion he was nowhere to be found. Usually Alfred would spy him near the hearth sewing embroidery of some sort, but he wasn't there, so Alfred checked his gun cabinet—perhaps he'd gone hunting. No, all the rifles were accounted for.

Turning, Alfred noticed the firewood stack measured a decent size. Surely he couldn't have gone out to some place. It looked as if he was just there.

The idea of checking the kitchen had just come to him. Turning on his heel, Alfred made for the room. Again, there was no one there. The next plausible places to look would be the two bedrooms but Alfred was stopped dead in his tracks.

Blue eyes widened at the sight of the table and chair pushed off the side. On the hardwood floor lay odd trinkets. Alfred didn't know what they were but he quickly understood the pattern in which they were placed, and the chalk drawings were easily distinguished as satanic.

Alfred's never seen a pentagram, but he could just feel the evil radiating off of the spot where the symmetrical lines were drawn. Quickly, he stumbled away, all too soon the pressure of something weighed in on the Puritan and he just didn't know what to do. Witches, there were witches about.

Now, Alfred Freedom Jones was a brave soul and believed that God Almighty shielded him from evil, but possibly being so close to danger did frighten him. He could feel his heart racing, thumping against his chest while his eyes scanned every corner, ears listened to every creak in the home. He thought . . . felt . . . like someone—some _thing_ was watching.

No sooner had the young American backed out of the kitchen that he heard a groan. He froze, his heart jumping up into his throat. It took a lot to swallow down his startle before turning toward the rooms. He had yet to check in there.

It sounded human enough to entice Alfred closer. He tried to be quiet, for once glad he had forgotten his high boots. The buckled shoes he had on were light and hardly caused a sound on the creaking floorboard. This made it easier for him to approach . . . whatever it was.

He froze. He heard another groan. He couldn't make out exactly what it was, or who for that matter. A fear boiled inside his gut at believing the noises to be that of Mr. Kirkland. Dear Lord above, what if he'd been attacked? What if he was under a witch's spell, what if . . . what if . . .?

Alfred wouldn't know unless he found out. So he inhaled a calming breath and crept closer. The sounds came from the main room, Arthur's room. Alfred could distinctly see flickering candlelight escaping from underneath the door and up the side near the knob, it wasn't closed but not ajar enough to see inside. Alfred swallowed, he'd have to push the door open slightly if he needed to peer inside. He prayed to the Angels above that the door remain quiet and that if there be evil inside the room he remain unseen.

He pushed, the door made only the slightest of noises that made Alfred's shivering body cringe. Finally, when he managed to get a better look inside his heart stopped.

A . . . a . . . a . . .

A witch!

Alfred saw it as clear as day. The witch, it was laying above Mr. Kirkland, pressing down on him. The witch had its hands wrapped around his neck, forcing Mr. Kirkland to turn his head and . . .

Alfred blinked in confusion. He forgot to breathe in that moment. The details such as Arthur's missing clothing didn't come to mind until he saw the British man's face when the witch turned him. His eyes were closed and mouth open but pain was far from the expression worn upon his facial features.

Alfred wasn't quite sure what was wrong with Mr. Kirkland but when that witch on top of him leaned their head down and . . . k-kissed . . . his neck, it was then Alfred heard that groan once more. It was Arthur, he was the one groaning and . . . m-moaning. What was this?!

"Francis, oh!" Alfred flinched back at the tone in those words. There was no anger or bite, it wasn't a happiness or sadness either. He couldn't understand at all what was happening. But he watched, he watched as Arthur turned his head, ran his hands up that naked witch's form and rolled his hips into the other. "Say something French to me. Come on."

"Honhon." Alfred rose a brow at the sound from the witch. Sure enough sounded like a man and . . . it was a man! What was he doing on top of Mr. Kirkland, and in such a provocative manner?!

"Cheri, you enjoy that language too much for a prideful British purebred," the witch said with a chuckle and then Alfred's eyes widened to their utmost. A forked tongue slipped out past the witch's teeth. It was a . . . a . . .

The American swallowed hard when the other began speaking phrases of French before he ground his hips into Arthur who moaned out with such ill-mannered and rude tones that left Alfred gawking. The final fright given to Alfred was when the being on top of his old friend shifted ever so slightly and now two things came into view—wings and a tail. This wasn't a witch, but a demon!

Did that mean that Arthur Kirkland was a . . . a . . . ?

"Enjoying the show?"

There was a voice, right behind Alfred, right next to his ear! The boy would have cried out presumably hadn't he been so startled he was about to physically cry tears. He turned quickly, his eyes wide with fright.

No one was there.

But Alfred swore he had heard someone.

"Turn around, little one."

There it was again. The sound sending shivers up and down Alfred's body and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Alfred shouldn't have, but he darted around again. He didn't know why he did. He didn't know what he was expecting to find. Part of himself thought he'd see nothing again, but how wrong he was.

A demon! Standing right before him there was a demon! Wings, tail, horns, fangs and all!

This time Alfred was certain he'd scream. His jaw retracted, his lips parted, and the sound bubbled up his throat. But the scream never echoed into the room. A clawed hand pressed against his mouth. All Alfred needed to do was to pull away or turn his head to sound his distress but he was frozen. The Demon was looking at him, touching him!

"Ah, ah, little one. Francis doesn't like to be disturbed," the demon said while holding a finger to its own lips to signal mutual silence.

The tears fell then and Alfred hardly even felt them build up in his eyes only to slip down red cheeks. His vision blurred with the liquid staunching inside, but he did manage to take in the motion of the demon, moving his fingers and catching those tears upon his dark claws.

"My, what innocence you've shed for me." His tone was deep, but soft all together. His violet gaze seemed transfixed on the translucent liquid he had scooped up, as if he had never seen such a thing and the fascination overwhelmed him.

Alfred's body began to tremble anew when he watched as the demon brought those wet fingers toward his mouth and tasted of the tears captured through a forked tongue slipping out past his lips. What ungodliness, what wretched damnation Alfred was currently beholding. It made him weak at the knees. It made his stomach churn. But more so it made his heart beat stronger and stronger, the sound of it deafening him.

The demon before him was large, menacing. Clad in darkness while the skin that bound his damned soul was pale, the hair he wore atop his head held almost a silver in shine. The horns rolled out of the creature's head, dipping downward before the points reached forward. The wings were large, not clearly folded, and that tail of his laid down upon the wooden floor, looking more so attached to his attire than his bodily form from lack of movement.

This demon was the image of nightmares, of Alfred's nightmares. And the notion of his close proximity with witches and demons petrified him. His soul beckoned him to move, to run, and yet his body remained still in its trembling fear.

The ringing in Alfred's ears pitched when the louder sounds of Arthur's—and that demon that he invited into his bed—moans and groans. Already Alfred could feel the bile rising up his throat, but to even move his lips to part and gain such expulsion had him thinking twice, for if he moved his mouth then he would risk more to feel of the demon who remained his hands upon him.

"What a rare thing I find after chancing following that Incubi," the demon spoke again. His tone made Alfred shudder, evoking more tears to fall to the damned soul's amusement. "In all the years I've tormented upon this earth . . ." Finally he moved his hand away from Alfred's mouth, but this was only to let those sharp claws trace over Alfred's startled features, gliding up warm cheeks before tracing the contour of a perfectly arched golden brow. "I've never seen a human as perfectly pure as yourself."

The demon's facial features darkened. He had smiled, revealed every sharp tooth inside his mouth while that forked tongue of his slid over the incisors. He looked like the Devil himself—if that wasn't whom he indeed was.

Alfred flinched backwards only slightly when the demon leaned in closer to him. It was simply a subconscious movement, one of which Alfred begged his body to allow him to consciously control once more. He knew he needed to run, to flee from the temptation of this darkness presented before him.

The rumbling hum that emitted deep within the demon's throat tore Alfred's mind away from the desperate thoughts of escape for a moment, if only to allow the American's body to pull blue eyes upon the entity before him, examining him in warrying fright.

That hand upon his face moved and soon the demon's long fingers were wrapping around Alfred's wrists, pulling his hands together while dark palms caressed the Puritan's hands. Alfred blinked in confusion when the demon suddenly prostrated himself; kneeling before him as if he were the very King of England.

"Allow me to be offered the gracious gift of such purity." The words were spoken against Alfred's hands while the demon leaned close, brushing pale lips against his tanned skin.

The sudden motion had Alfred's head whirling with faint. His knees already knocking threatened to uproot his locked feet. If he didn't move right then, then the American risked collapsing, no doubt into the arms of this sinful demon.

Lips parted, whether to speak or scream had yet to be determined in time. The disgusting sounds coming from Mr. Kirkland's bedroom turned Alfred's heart against this place, his body feeling the evil pressing down on his limbs and will, trying as it might to get him to stay to bend his mind in acceptance to this absolute wickedness.

No, Alfred was a God-fearing Puritan. He had been since the day he was born, and would be until he died. The others were right about the fright of witches, and Alfred had discovered one so close to home, and to his heart. It was his duty to inform the others, to warn them of the evils that truly lay in this dense forest, and of the malicious spirits this witch has thus summoned.

Alfred ran. He pulled his hands from the demon's grasp, turned on his heel, and ran. His body bounded out of the door, rushing so fast and hard that the frame of the door had swung out and knocked against the other side of the cabin's walls. The noise shook the home and echoed throughout the forest, but its rippling vibrations urged Alfred that much faster to return into town.

The night had grown colder and the dark seemed that much deeper. While Alfred knew these woods like the back of his hand, his fright turned his inward compass upside down, and now he feared himself to be lost for the first time in years. But he kept running, never minding the chilling ice that bit into his frozen toes and soaking calves.

The winds had picked up and the cool air made it so much harder to breathe. Alfred's lungs burned and eyes watered while he watched his breath escape from him in smoky puffs. Sure enough he could feel the effects of the cold night seeping into him, slowing his movement and agility of his mind.

His eyes searched through the darkness, looking for the lights of his town. He knew that if he could spot them then he would know where to go and that no obstacle would dissuade him from the internal mission he set out for himself. But the lights his vision did ensnare was not that of the candlelit windows of Salem, no, the fiery soft orange glows were not the color of which Alfred took in. Orbs of violet had entranced his wide eyes and soon enough Alfred felt himself stumble backwards over snow entrenched roots.

The boy cried out, his arms flailing while he attempted to crawl away. But his arms kept slinking into deep mounds of snow, hindering his movement to near none.

A shadow engulfed him, and when he felt that thing press down onto him his throat loosened and he wailed in distress.

"NO!" Alfred cried out, trying to wiggle away, anything to just run. "Get away! Help! HELP!"

The demon had followed him, took to the skies and surveyed the Puritan's plight from amongst the treetops. Now he had swooped down like a bird of prey and caught his victim. Alfred struggled to loosen himself from the demon's grasp, but his touch burned him, kept him still, and heightened his fright now seeping out of every pore.

"No one will hear you from out here," the demon spoke, making Alfred's heart drop and nearly halt its beat in absolute terror. What was to become of him?! "These woods serve our means, and as of now, this night and this place will serve mine."

"No! NO!" Alfred cried, continuing to struggle against the demon who had come over him, holding him to himself with ease. "Stop! Let go of me! Let GO!"

Alfred's cries echoed into the night, only being swept up by howling winds that cascaded through the mangled tree branches. His tears fell, and all the hairs on his body stood up while this demonic spirit bore itself over him, pressing physically down upon him.

The things happening to him were the stuff of nightmares, set to terrorize the dreamers in the night. But Alfred was awake. He was wide awake and frightened and cold and desperate. In his adamant means to escape, Alfred was soon beginning to come to terms with the sheer power holding him from breaking free. When he felt those demonic arms wrap around his waist, hold him still as he tried crawling and scurrying off, they squeezed him, crushing his pelvic bone and Alfred cried out in pain from the feel of it.

Once his struggles had stopped to handle the pain his body was forced to take on, Alfred found himself flipped around, now back pressing against hidden root and mounds of ice and snow. He was face-to-face with the demon and Alfred cried out again, this time trying another means to gain his release.

Alfred balled his fists and made to strike the demon. Ironically the creature let go of his waist and made to block his strikes. He caught Alfred's right swinging punch and when his left made to make contact against that evil skull while he attempted to pull his other arm free, so too had the demon caught his last punch.

Alfred made to cry out in the distress of his failed last attempt of freedom, but it caught in his throat the moment he felt the demon's lips touch that of his wrist. Alfred's skin crawled, gasping of the feel of skin-to-skin contact. Looking closely, Alfred noticed the cuff of his sleeve had been loosened in his struggle, the button having snapped off only for the lace to hang open and reveal his palm and wrist in clearer view.

The rest of his attire wore in the same fashion, clasps were misplaced and buttons loosened in the Puritan's struggle to escape from the grappling demon. The wetness of the snow seeping into his clothing hardly deterred Alfred's fright from the demon touching him on places revealed. And so Alfred continued to wiggle, to try to pull his arm away from the demon so that he couldn't touch him, so that he couldn't ki—!

"OW!" Alfred had yelped and jumped in the same breath when he felt sharp teeth sink into unmarred skin. His eyes nearly popped out of his skull when they focused on the sight of that demon pressing his fangs into his wrist. Contrast to that pale skin the demon wore, the red oozing around his lips was dually notable and the sight of it dripping down Alfred's arm, dropping into the white snow and tainting its color. Why, the sight of it had Alfred feeling faint.

Eyes fluttered and his head felt that much heavier. Alfred lulled his head back ever so slightly at the feel of the dizziness these circumstances were pressing down upon him. What waved the dizziness away was the sickness bubbling inside his belly. Alfred grit his teeth, holding back the bile as he felt gentle suckles, and a strangely cool muscle gliding along where the demon had bit down.

Tears slipped out of Alfred's eyes when he watched the demon pull his lips away. His blue eyes took in the side of red coating pale. When the demon licked is lips of the blood he had taken from the American teen, Alfred shuddered, a cry echoing out of his throat weakly, much too weakly.

"You taste divine," the demon said while he leaned up, tilting his head back ever so slightly and closing his eyes in a reveling sort of praise. There was another swipe of that forked tongue across his lips before he opened those glowing eyes of his and glanced down at Alfred, pressing that wounded wrist against his face almost in an endearing sort of manner. But then, he leaned down. "Allow me to have more."

Alfred found himself pressing back into the snow, trying as he might to avoid the demon baring down upon him, inching ever closer toward his face. Tears welled up in the teenager's eyes while he shook his head to avoid any contact, but nothing he could do would stop the demon from leaning down and pressing his lips to his mouth.

Alfred cried out behind his teeth, keeping his lips pressed as tightly together as he could. He was sobbing now, absolutely balling with lips pressed tautly together while this demon attempted to kiss him as a man would a woman. The notion that this demon was trying to defile Alfred was already rushing around in his mind, and it was these thoughts that made the American clench his eyes shut and dispel the tears that had been building up.

He couldn't escape. He knew this now, and the frightening reality of that made him crumble inside.

When the demon finally pulled his lips away from him, Alfred coughed, gasping for breath and then forcing himself to open his eyes and look at the creature. "Please," he begged. "God, please!" Alfred's eyes fluttered shut when he felt the demon wrap his clawed fingers around his jaw. Alfred cried out louder, his sobs growing wet with saliva and snot and tears.

Alfred really should have continued to keep his cries to himself. Because of the way his cries loosened is jaw, that dangerous hand holding onto his chin had pulled him back into lips, and this time a devilish tongue was allowed to slip past trembling teeth and embrace the Puritan's quivering tongue.

Alfred had cried out from the touch, his eyes opening wide while his hands then pressed against the demon's broad chest, trying to hit him away or at least press him off. His legs kicked, the heels of his shoes trying to do what damage they may but once they were hindered, to Alfred's horror he had realized it be from the demon's tail that held them still and compliant. The feel of that demonic attachment had Alfred's eyes wandering away from the face bearing down upon him, but now toward the memory of horns, and wings. This was not just someone in the guise of a man seeking to ring in an ungodly action, no, this was no doubt that of a wretched demon seeking to destroy and devour.

Dark wings unfurled and the gush of wind it made had Alfred gasping, eyes wide as his pupils stared at the leathery wings. This was not happening. It couldn't be. This must all just be a nightmare to the Puritan. He's had dreams of these caliber before.

This couldn't be real.

But the touch on Alfred's arms, the press of vile lips to his own, it was all _very_ real in that moment and the understanding of this had Alfred panicking, struggling once more in the spur. Alfred managed in his rile, to push the demon away if only for a little, but the moment he pushed up to get to his feet he had fallen face-first into the snow, his chin striking an ice-covered root. Looking back he noticed that demon's confounded tail still was tangled around his ankles.

There was a chuckle that resonated around the silent night around them—the winds had suddenly stopped. Alfred's eyes took in the sight of the demon's face, he looked amused. "You shouldn't struggle against me, human, I could do terrible things to you."

Alfred was afraid. He admitted that much. But as his teeth grit his eyes narrowed and fists clenched. He was a damn Christian, protected by God Almighty Himself! This circumstance shouldn't be unfolding upon him. It shouldn't!

"You have no right to touch me!" Alfred spat, trying to manage what fearlessness he could in that moment. "Vile demon! Return to the pits in hell from whence you came from!"

In Alfred's condemning spouts, he still attempted to pull himself free, but the feel of that demonic tail was still there, still holding his ankles in place. What was worse, the demon chuckled again and was now pulling Alfred back toward himself, making the small distance Alfred had managed to crawl away for naught.

"A human commanding a demon of my status? You humor me, little one." The demon grinned, peering down at the Puritan in his grasp now that he pulled him back to his feet. Alfred looked absolutely terrified, but of course the resistance in his eyes was noted by the demon and never underestimated.

Soon enough another yelp left Alfred's lips when he was hoisted up off of his feet by the demon's tail. His eyes widened and his arms flailed as he was hung upside down before the creature like a caught sturgeon. He hadn't the time to catch his bearings after his world flipped upside down, but he did feel the demon wrap his fingers into his collar and pull him closer. His blue eyes now gazed into blazing amethyst orbs.

"I have every right in this world to do as I please," the demon said while letting his fingers trace up Alfred's face. Even with viewing everything upside down, Alfred still caught that malicious smirk. "After all, I was invited here . . . by your . . ." The fingers wrapped in Alfred's white collar fell down, moving one finger at a time before a claw tapped against the Puritan's sternum. "Pure heart," the demon finished with a disgustingly satisfied grin. "That is right, little one, I came straight from hell, beckoned by your bright soul. It called to me, lead me to this place, through that portal that foolish witch left open, all for me to change its hue."

"No!" Alfred cried, wiggling once more. "My soul is not yours to claim!"

"If I can taint it, then yes it is," the demon said as-a-matter-of-factly.

Alfred gasped when he was dropped back into the snow. His vision spotted while his mind struggled to balance his bearings. But it was too late to strike up any more resistance when the demon came over him again. Those hands and claws tugged at his clothing, ripping seams and slicing ties.

"NO!" Alfred cried, once more trying in his weak attempts to struggle for freedom, but the demon held him down, often pressing him face-first down into the snow.

The American heaved out sobs while feeling the very real from of the demon on top of him, trying to mount him like beasts in a field. Not only did his weight press him more into the snow, but the sheer wickedness weighed down Alfred's very soul. He could feel it, sense it, even taste it.

Alfred cried out to God in heaven and begged Him to send his Angels down to rescue him from this evil, but the response to his broken prayers was ice-cold grips on his arms. The Puritan teen was flipped around, slammed into the snow. Eyes opened wide only to take in the sight of a livid demonic expression. The large creature was snarling, his violet eyes wide, glowing and menacing. An animalist growl came from deep within the Fallen Angel that Alfred could match no breed of fauna to.

"You pray to God as if He'll save you!" The demon spat. "As of right now I am your god. You will beg to me and me alone!"

Alfred cried out when the demon leaned in and sank his fangs into his shoulder. He bit through fabric and skin, the American's red, red blood now seeping and staining his white collar. But while the demon held jaw pressure to keep the wound oozing, he too pulled on Alfred's sleeve, making the shirt rip near the sternum. Now the fabric fell away, uncovering the skin of his shoulder to the harsh elements around him.

His clothing had been torn, his skin punctured, and his innocence violated. The chill of the ice and snow froze the American. His body shook just to create some sort of warmth. This demon upon him was just as chilled as the ground he was pressed against. Alfred could find no salvation in this.

That vile forked tongue now slid down the expanse of his uncovered torso. Dipping over muscular contours and even aimfully swirling around the tender patches of Alfred's nipples. Just at the touch Alfred had cried out, trying his best to beckon someone, anyone who might be out tonight to come and save him. The Puritan really wasn't certain if a wandering traveler would help assist him in his damned dilemma, but he could think of no other escape for him unless a fellow Christian came to offer righteous assistance.

But the hope of that aspect looked bleak, and all Alfred's mind could really focus on was the chore of trying to stay strong-willed, trying to battle this demon coming down upon him, and trying to continue his earnest prayers that the Angels above grace down and save him.

Instead, his thoughts began to turn darker while the demon pressed his fangs close to his skin, his tongue against intimate places, and his clawed hands down onto his hips. Alfred shuddered at the feel of them dip into his breeches, slipping the fabric down with the descent of his touch. In that moment Alfred cried out again, struggled more so while feeling those demonically wicked hands reach to touch a place that should never be touched.

In his attempt to struggle, his eyes widened as the demon made use of his flailing limbs by reaching out to take hold of his knees, spreading them, and then settling his body between the American's thighs. Alfred froze in horror, feeling _something_ press against his groin which he envisioned properly. The sheer disgust made Alfred's throat tighten and his stomach lurch, but nothing came out of his mouth while lips sealed to close it.

Alfred's tears were what warmed his cheeks in the chilled night. They flowed continuously while the demon saw to loosening his clothing, pulling the fabric to reveal bare skin, and ripping seams to make sure the boy remembered that this wasn't some terrible dream conjured in the quietness of his bedroom.

He was disheveled now. Alfred felt absolutely helpless in what was happening to him. Sobs passed out of his mouth every time the demon pulled away. His tone pitched when those pale lips slid down his throat and nibbled on his Adam's apple.

But, oh, the hands were indeed the worst part.

Already Alfred's privacy of form was revealed to this servant of Satan. His shirt had been torn near the collar, slipping down his shoulder where a red irritated bite began clogging in the cold night air. The hem was raised, his navel exposed as so the bumpy terrain of his abdomen. The state of his trousers was worse off. The demon had not so much ripped them as he had pulled them off, now only a pant leg clung to Alfred's left calve.

It was when the demon tore his undergarments that Alfred's struggle intensified again. Of course it was seemingly no use, and only made the demon roll his hips into him, pressing his hard pelvis between Alfred's thighs and trapping his manhood between their forms. Alfred had protested with urgency when the demon took hold of his manhood, and squeezed it in his palm. It was a disgusting thing to do, and in no way did Alfred arouse to this touch.

"Release me!" Alfred cried out. It was angry in tone, but perhaps only in his mind. The shuttering words leaking out of the Puritan boy's mouth came out like a beggar's call. Now Alfred was pleading with the devil as he would to the Almighty on high.

"God, have mercy!" Alfred shivered against the cold, but his tears continued to flow. His teeth grit and his brows crashed together from the mental pain of everything befalling him. "Do not touch me, please, I beg of you!"

The Puritan sounded pathetic, miserable, and at his last straw. This only seemed to entice the demon to tighten his grip around him.

"Please," Alfred begged again, keeping his eyes closed to this sinful act playing out before him—to him. "End my life and spare this torture! Please, I beg this of you!"

The demon's hum reverberated in Alfred's ears and shook his body in such a way that he felt as if he were that of an empty hallow chest echoing sounds of its corners. The weight pressed on top of him seemed to weigh down more as the demon leaned closer. Alfred continued to refuse to behold the sight of the creature and so only flinched back as far as he could in hopes to evade any more ravishing attention the demon might display.

His eyes scrunched even more when he felt a roughly padded thumb press against the tip of his manhood. While the previous grip and motions of the demon's hand had evoked no reaction, just as that rough textured digit pressed down, seemingly slinking beneath the foreskin to the more sensitive places inside, Alfred had unconsciously bucked his hips.

"Oh . . ." The demon's breath—if the breeze from his mouth may be labeled something so mortal—blew against Alfred's cold red ear. The American was already pressed flat into the snow, seeming to only slip further into the ice the more weight that creature pressed down onto him. "You have not felt torture yet, Svyatoy."

"AH!" Alfred's gasp had his entire body trembling for another reason than the ice making his skin numb. That demon's claw had sank beneath his foreskin and pressed into the very tip of his penis. It had frightened him, fearing that the creature meant to maim him. But the tip simply remained embedded, still, until it slowly moved in circular motions that brought moans of discomfort from Alfred's mouth.

The motion had gotten Alfred to open his eyes. Tear-filled vision was blinked away while trying to look at the things being done to him. His mouth remained open, as if to cry, to beg, to . . . Alfred wasn't quite sure what his vocals would create, but in the light of the situation thrust upon him he knew his voice would take on a negative sound.

"Hmm, you don't like my touch?" In that moment, the demon released Alfred's manhood. A heavily relieved sigh left his lungs when the creature had. Alfred looked at those clawed hands, held up as if to show the Puritan that he would not touch him again, but indeed that was not the case.

That wicked grin that only a demon could create held on the creature's facial expression, and Alfred shivered at the sight of it. Soon enough the demon moved, one hand falling back between his thighs. Alfred mentally prepared himself for what that hand might do to his sensitive genitalia, but when those fingers slid down even past his scrotum, Alfred jumped, eyes widened to their most while he felt fingers rub him . . . _there_.

"Perhaps I should touch you _here_ instead," the demon said with a musing hum, continuing to rub his fingers against Alfred's outer ring. Seeing the Puritan tremble beneath his touch had riled the demon, making him lean up just to take in a better view of the pure soul he had caged. His grin only continued to curl when he applied pressure to those rubbing fingers, deliberately shoving two fingers into the tight depths.

Just the way Alfred had thrown himself back against the roots, tossing and turning into the snow while his thighs trembled against the demon's body had evoked a deep desire to see further displays in the hellish creature. A cry rung into the night, echoing off trunk and branch and clinking icicles.

"Stop! Stop! Please, stop!" came the delicious cries of the Puritan while he tossed and turned and even pressed his hands against the demon's chest in attempt to off him. No, the human body had grown too weak to offer any challenge, or resistance for that matter. And so the demon pressed his two fingers in deeper, at least in to the second knuckle.

The pitches in Alfred's cries aroused him, making his dark soul yearn to match this brightly lit deity underneath him just the same. What a prize, oh what a prize in hell he would be.

"AAHA!" Alfred's eyes had closed again, his hearing ringing while the pain shooting up his spine attacked his mind in pure hot white hurt. He tried to squeeze, to keep those fingers in place and still, but no matter what, those claws felt dangerous inside and when the digits moved, Alfred had eased his internal muscles so to not feel their sharp wrath, but this only resulted in those fingers pressing more into him.

Oh, how wrong this was, how ungodly, vain, and vile. Alfred gagged at the feel and cried out for his life to end. His prayers turned into these grim mantras, and continued that way until he realized that the pain stabbing into his head faded into a dull ache. His eyes eventually opened and when he looked above he noticed the demon had stilled. Those violet inhumanly eyes held downward, presumably gazing at the sight where his fingers had violated. But the demon must have felt Alfred's eyes upon him because he quickly looked back at him, that predatory look still in his gaze.

"You've taken them so nicely," the demon came to some sort of sick praise. In that he had moved his fingers and Alfred was reminded that they were still inside him. He gasped breathlessly, realizing how deeply they were and how his muscles had stopped clenching them, instead, seemingly accepting them as something almost natural to remain.

"Then let's try another." Alfred's eyes widened at the statement, already his head shaking back and forth in rejection, though his body was forced to accept another digit. The American cried out, arching while a third finger was thrust inside him. This one did not inch in like its companions, no, this one simply slid in all the way next to them the moment it entered and Alfred cried out in agony.

"Oh, you must relax, little one," the demon said, cooing his tone that Alfred's ringing ears simply did not appreciate. There was a kiss placed against the Puritan's knee that he had ignored, and continued staring up into the dark branches above them, trying to will himself into nonexistence and demand of his right as a human being that this ill-fate was not happening to him. "We have yet to reach the torturous moments."

Alfred shook at the words spoken. He finally looked back at the demon and realized there might be some truth to what he was saying. Even though the creature was a devil born in hell and sin, Alfred felt the pang of fright bubble up in his heart at what the demon had said, and subconsciously, his body and mind began to prepare for the tribulations ahead.

And Alfred had thought the following ministrations to be the torture. The demon had pressed three fingers into him, not in the least concerning himself with the pain the human was going through, but when he began moving his fingers was when Alfred's protests started again. They continued for a while until his ranting curses turned into breathless pants and moans of . . . possible pain. When the forth finger was added, Alfred had braced himself, already finding a way to relax his body when he was being stretched in the most controversial of ways.

In a small sense Alfred was glad that the added fourth digit didn't seem to hurt him as much. A way it gave him a hope that he could endure these torturing methods and continue to steel himself against whatever more the demon may thrust upon him. However, the Puritan was in no way ready when those four fingers, now moving inside him, began rubbing inside him.

It was odd at first the way they moved, and how tense Alfred felt due to the claws attached to the digits, but he was never scrapped, nor torn. The movement was rough, but not at all unpleasant any longer. It was when those moving fingers had pressed against a certain part inside him that Alfred froze.

The Puritan knew his lack of movement caught the attention of the demon. Those amethyst eyes flicked toward him, watching the way his limbs locked and then toward his face to examine expressions. Alfred tried to remain stoic, tried to hide his feelings inside his gut, but after a slight still movement and then another press, Alfred's reactions were the same and he knew the demon had taken note of it.

"Stop it!" Alfred's demand was soft at first after his previous screaming had nearly torn his vocals out, but his pitches quickly grew in tone the more the demon rubbed him like that. "Stop it, stop it!" Alfred continually cried like this, even as his body arched in reaction to the touches and his thighs spread all on their own. The Puritan believed these reactions were simply his body's way to handle what was being done to it, to make sure it wasn't as uncomfortable as he mentally felt.

But even when the demon pressed in deeper, using his fingers to rub those tingling nerves, Alfred wasn't quite sure if he was in a discomfort any more. He had prepared himself for each thrust, and rub, but even still a sort of anticipation for the touch began arising, and when Alfred realized this, the disgust not only for the action being done, but for himself as well piled up until it made him sick.

"God, please!" Alfred begged. He didn't know what was happening to him. What the demon was doing to make him more relaxed in this vile situation. But it frightened him. It frightened him to death. "Stop this, please!"

All at once the fingers were pulled from him. Alfred choked out a gasp upon their exit and now he laid there, touched no more, clothing ruffled and in no way shielding his sensitive skin against the dropping temperatures. His eyes remained set above into the dark rafters of the trees. His mind was unusually blank, only focusing so much as to the feel of his body and how much he didn't mind the chill on his heated skin any more.

One feeling dually noted was the gap between his legs. It was a strange sensation, one that Alfred's mind was currently writing into his eternal memory. But even after this break, this moment in time, the Puritan's movements waned, turning toward the demon and watching him without protest, in his silence while he shifted, moving those clawed hands toward the American's thighs and propping them against his hips before leaning back over him.

One hand left the grip on the Puritan's thigh if only to reach up and palm the side of the American's face. Alfred's breath shuddered against the demon's knuckles while his thumb rubbed just underneath one of those bright blue eyes, his claw ever subtly scrapping against that bronzed skin.

"Now, I'll make you as black as me." The whisper against Alfred's lips was heard, but not nearly as comprehended enough before pale lips pressed against the Puritan's mouth while something else pressed into him.

Alfred's eyes closed shut tightly, his mouth opened to cry out only for his sounds to be eaten by the demon baring upon him, pressing into him with something that seemed as if . . . as if . . .

"AAAH!" Alfred eventually managed to turn his face away from the demon. His voice had certainly broken during this cry, the pitch seeming to echo across the entire forest this time.

The pain had frightened the American during this defiling, the knowledge of what this demon was doing to him frightened the Puritan, and the realization that Alfred's body was coming to easily accept this pain is what utterly horrified the teenager.

"Stop, no!" Alfred cried out, his hands digging into that dark coating that the demon was adorned in. No matter how hard he pulled and tugged, the clothing held in place and the demon didn't once stutter in his rhythm.

Moaning cries echoed out of Alfred's hoarse throat while the demon moved against him, rolled his hips into him, and pressed so deeply into such a place that was not meant to be touched so sinfully.

Alfred tried to hold onto the pain, onto the disgust. He focused his gaze onto the demonic wings fluttering above while the creature shifted above him and inside him. He watched as that animalist tail curled, leaning up and slithering against the American's stocking-clad calves like that serpent in the Garden.

But even while focusing on all of these things, Alfred could not ignore the stretch between his thighs, the fulfillment, the absolute unique sensation it created when the demon moved. Slowly at first, almost without movement. Firstly his hands rubbed Alfred's thighs after the initial penetration before he began leaning into him to rock out a rhythm.

Alfred's eyes held round in form while his mouth mirrored in shape. The shock of everything that was happening to him, of what he was feeling, it paralyzed him and he could do nothing to save himself from what was becoming of his soul.

"Mmm, soon, little one, soon you'll look just like me." The heavy breath breathed down upon the Puritan was in no way of showing the weariness in the demon. In fact, the creature felt more alive than he had in centuries. He could feel it, he could feel how that one drop of pleasure enacted a sin inside the youth, quickly blotching that white soul of his.

Oh, what a lovely sight. Even the tears shed in understanding enticed the demon to lean over and lap at the liquid spilling from darkening eyes. They tasted perfect.

The way that young body eased around him, the way those tugging hands eventually fisted out of sheer pleasure, and the sounds pitching out of those parted lips weren't laced with pain, but under toned with sinful ecstasy. Those moans, those groans, they were coming from the demon's movements and the way he held the human. Oh, yes, this not-so-pure Puritan was undoubtedly damned to hell after this.

And this demon would certainly enjoy his eternal company.

"Uunngh . . . ahhh." Alfred's pitched moans were music to the demon's ears and he deliberately made the human feel all pleasure bodily possible. He knew that he could have easily ripped that innocence from him, as such other demons ranked in his caliber would, but where would be the fun in that? Or the reward?

To actually see them transform from blatant refusal to a whimpering accepting mess was the most delightful experience one could be graced with. Those other demons couldn't see the beauty in such a downfall.

When warm hands unclenched and pressed down flat against his back, the demon noted his triumph. The palms slid up, up and up until those trembling fingers pressed against the back of his neck, fingering strands of light hair before cupping the bend on the neck and tugging, pulling down ever so slightly. The demon was compliant to the silent demands and leaned down further, his large nose pressing against the American's while blue eyes—now so dark—looked up at him.

The demon had moved one hand toward Alfred's hip, marveling at the way they rolled into him, in time with his own thrusts, legs opening wide while the demon pressed forward in his defilement.

"Such a beauty has missed so much," the demon whispered, his lips fluttering against hot tan skin, running along the boy's cheek before sliding down toward his neck to feel the pulse of his veins against his pale mouth. "You shan't feel so mundane ever again . . ." The demon sighed out a moan of his own when he heard Alfred stuttered out a moan while he buried himself inside the colonist so deeply. "With me in your life, I can show you pleasure . . ." The demon pressed a kiss to Alfred's collarbone, one that he arched into, a sigh leaving those lips so easily now. "Power . . ." The demon pulled his lips away, leaning back if only to emphasize his spoken word with a strengthened roll of his hips. Oh how the way that body arched into him was delicious, the shuddering twitches of limbs that wrapped around his neck and pressed against his hips, and the rippling muscles throbbing around his cock. It made him roll a quicker thrust into him, one of which the American seemed to enjoy by the shrill cry pitching in his ears. "And freedom." Of course the last, but most important achievement. No more would this human have to be weighed down by his religion and all its restrictions. He'd be free to make his own decisions, whether they were good or not for him.

"Come." The demon's cold breath prickled the American's skin, sending newly discovered sensations throughout his body that only had him bending to it and the wall it made him feel. "Give your soul to me this night."

Alfred cried out again when the demon took hold of his manhood. The American had been hard for a while now, the friction of rubbing against the demon, of the way that monster stretched him in places that weren't meant to be stretched but felt oh so sinfully good. It was too much, and with just the right amount of pressure in the demon's hand, Alfred was spilling his damnation all over himself and the demon atop him, and yet he continued to roll his hips, pressing himself onto that rod inside him until his inward muscles squeezed and clenched while churning all the right sensors inside him up toward his groin and mind.

"Conteram sigillum!"

The sound of something strange erupted suddenly, but the one Alfred knew personally was the ripping of a page. He hadn't turned to see what it was, nor who had shouted out such unintelligible words, but it was known that whatever effect it had, it presented its results to the demon above him.

The demon flinched, froze up it seemed. His eyes clamped shut and his mouth opened, fangs borne as if in pain. His wings shot up and tail turned rigid. But he moved, the demon moved, turning his head and then giving off a monstrous growl of warning.

"Recedemus!" The shouting voice was heard again. But Alfred was already so cold, his senses numbed from the temperature and what had been done to him that he couldn't comprehend the action of what was taking place. He even nearly faded from consciousness, closing his eyes once before opening them and realizing the demon above him was gone.

"Alfred! Oh, good God above!" The voice was very familiar and the body pressed against his own was warm unlike the form above him earlier. His vision blurred, but it almost recollected a human being, one that looked very similar to Mr. Kirkland.

Already Alfred could feel the man's hands on him, trying his best to pull up his pants and buckle them properly, as well as pull the ripped shirt together to shield him from the frigid night. Alfred understood that it was indeed the British man when he was pulled to his feet and hoisted onto his back. While the man dragged him away from the scene of the sad crime, Alfred fell from the consciousness of the world and dreamed of nothing.

He did wake up and when he did, his conscious was clear and precise, more than it had ever been in his life. He was with Mr. Kirkland. He didn't ask for how long he had been there or anything else for that matter, he simply let his eyes follow the man as he made to clean up his home, even sweeping up the symbol drawn onto the floor.

As he did this the Brit noticed Alfred's eyes on him, and immediately he narrowed his eyes and waved his hand. "Go back to sleep, Alfred. You are dreaming."

Alfred wanted to listen to the man—to the witch—but he couldn't, not now that he knew and had been shown of what dangers witches could invite into the world. Instead, he just kept to his silence and watched as the man cleaned up any trace of the forbidden dark magic.

"You don't think you'll get caught?" Alfred's voice was still raw even after the tea offered, but even still it lacked any tone, as his eyes any of that innocent gleam. No, he supposed it wouldn't. It was gone after all.

A chortle came out of the Brit while he placed all of his emblems away. "I'm not that daft, boy. Nor stupid like the others." He looked at Alfred then, examining him for a moment. "You'll tell the others, won't you?"

Alfred remained quiet. His gaze looking at the place where the evil symbol had once been. The place where those demons had been invited to their world by an unsupervised witch.

"I . . . I'm sorry . . . for what happened to you . . ." When Alfred's eyes turned to look at Arthur, the older man's gaze would not look to him. The shame of it all was there even for an evil witch. "It . . . it's alright if you hate me."

That day had been the last Alfred ever visited Arthur Kirkland again. He had never told the town of what the man really was, and when questioned, the Brit easily maneuvered his way out of suspicion. But Alfred had returned to his home and watched him in silent secret. He took in the potions he made, the herbs he collected, and the emblems he constructed. The Englishman never stopped practicing his arts when he believed no one to be looking, even when innocent women were being tried and hanged for his folly.

Alfred had watched many of the trials and even stared longingly at the swaying lifeless bodies. Many nights he dreamt of the same fate, expect his came through flame. The dreams had been so horrible that he believed it only right to leave this world and be tortured in the next for what had been done to him . . . for accepting such wrong feelings.

But no one had questioned him, no one had accused. No, certainly not Alfred F. Jones. He was their pure child, their boy that they'd keep safe from these big bad witches and the devil they summon. But he'd already been touched and harmed by them. They were just too busy knocking down the wrong doors and taking women still holding onto their innocence . . . unlike himself.

No one saw how Alfred cursed himself in the dark. No one saw how slowly he secluded himself from the others. No one even noticed how he had stopped going to church, fearing that if he entered the building he'd catch aflame. No one even noticed his quiet moans in the night whilst he tossed and turned on his bed, aching for something so wrong, yet had been given to him once.

So he had memorized and replicated what Mr. Kirkland did, trying his own hand and not even caring if he was caught attempting such a thing. His mother was asleep, just she and he in their lonely home. But now, Alfred felt the presence of another, letting him know the incantations had worked and the seal was right.

Arms wrapped around his waist and a larger figure loomed over him from behind, but Alfred didn't move, nor seek to escape. Instead, he stood there, still as a statue, accepting the encircling arms that he had invited into his life.

"I knew it wouldn't be long until you called me back." That voice made Alfred shiver, and his heart drop. He knew that once he had created this contract he would be damning his life, but ever since that fateful night he felt it already was damned, and no drop of the red blood of Christ would save him now.

Alfred could hear the flap of wings and soon enough a slithering tail came into view that seemed to enjoy wrapping around his ankle. Instead of trembling at the sight and feel of the demon again, Alfred turned in the beast's arms and looked him in the eyes, not an ounce of fear or dread in them any longer.

"What is your name, demon?" Alfred asked.

The demon only smiled, reveling sharp fangs in the glow of the moonlight from the window. "You may call me Ivan." He then leaned close, his nose brushing against Alfred's before moving down, breathing against his lips. "And what shall I call you?"

Alfred opened his mouth, paused before saying, "Master." He could feel the way the demon grinned against him and only watched as he nodded. "Da, so be it, Master." And the contract sealed with a press of lips. A forbidden kiss in the dark.

There were no feelings involved save for the contract that bound the demon to his summoner and his summoner to himself. Alfred only sought the forbidden pleasure he hungered for and a possible means to end his mental torture, while Ivan sought for a soul to bring with him to Hell once their contract was up. He liked the idea of a lowly servant, but while growing to understand this human, Ivan realized this corrupted soul would become a much stronger demon in the afterlife, and Ivan contemplated on what to do with him for eternity.

The time to place him into a slot was over though, quite shortly unfortunately. It had been Alfred's own mother who had caught her son in the throes of pleasure with a demon. And Ivan watched the trial curiously, interested how Alfred hadn't flinched at the seemingly harsh names and accusations they had titled him with. He remained still-faced, and strong standing. It was not pride, but utter emptiness, and Ivan was so very fascinated.

He knew Alfred knew he was present at his arrest, as his imprisonment, and his trial, even when the people decided the harshest punishment would be to burn him instead of hang him. They believed his intercourse with a demon would create diseases and so they opted to burn his body to prevent such a dangerous outbreak.

And yet Alfred still stood tall, even glanced toward the roof Ivan had seated himself on just to watch the display. The town cried, they had loved Alfred, but even their love for the boy would not revoke the sentence that had been stamped onto his head.

While the flames reached high and the American cried out from the pain, Ivan then realized how high this damned soul would rank. Why, he suspected Alfred to rise as sinfully as himself, hmmm, perhaps even higher. Ivan grinned, enjoying the way the flames broke Alfred's skin and turned his bone into ash. It was a beautiful sight.

While the humans watched and made certain the flames ate away everything, only Ivan knew of the real happening those flames were doing. They were releasing a very powerful soul, and once the body was withered away then Ivan would swoop down and take his hand, lead him back to Hell to where he would show the misguided soul of a place he was meant to be.

The demons could use a king, and this American soul had just enough dark power to get him to rise to take such a position and sit on said throne.


End file.
